


On the Catastrophic Effect of Collisions with Celestial Bodies

by AnonymousHeavyIndustries



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Never Met, Awkwardness, Dialogue Heavy, Drunken Flirting, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mentions of Corn, Pining, Poor Gym Etiquette, begrudging friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-13 09:19:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousHeavyIndustries/pseuds/AnonymousHeavyIndustries
Summary: Sousuke has a type. Guys who match that type are collected into what he likes to call his "Star System", because they're so far out of his league that he might as well try to wrassle the moon.Kisumi's getting sick of all the stargazing.





	On the Catastrophic Effect of Collisions with Celestial Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays and all that shit.

"Whoa. Stud alert. Check it out. Looks like a foreigner."

"I don't care, pick a fish."

Sousuke joggled his leg, wishing he would've done the shopping for their weekly beer and bitchfest ahead of time. When it came to Kisumi, it wasn't enough to let a patch of mold be a patch of mold, it had to look like a dog he used to have, which would get him started on his extensive history of pets, rapidly segue into a commentary on public transport as a bus passed, then hop lines to that old lady with the pocket-sized dog up the way and wasn't it funny that that's probably her only company in the world wait I guess that's not that funny is it but did you see that new comedy on Fuji TV last night? His running commentary on the world was so vivid that Sousuke could go blind and not notice a difference. Kisumi always said that Sousuke didn't pay enough attention, but Sousuke figured Kisumi noticed too much. Sometimes he wondered if he had ADD or something. Kisumi, that is, not him.

Long story short, shopping with Kisumi took forever.

"Man, no one buys that much food at once unless they're a sumo wrestler and boy, he's anything but."

He could get him to shut up if he kissed him, if only for a few seconds, but then he'd get bitching about how he would never date an oaf like Sousuke how dare he invade his personal space like that by the way your breath stinks go eat a mint. Sousuke knew this from having done that before. He wasn't keen on getting put on blast in public, so he settled for, "He could've moved here recently. He's probably stocking his fridge."

"Just look at him for two seconds. Those pants!"

Sousuke followed the point of Kisumi's finger and immediately reconsidered his agnosticism. There, between a display of Kabi Killer and discounted produce, stood a redheaded man carrying two overflowing baskets. Man might've not been the right word for him. Sexual fever dream, that's what he was. An angular gold sports logo snarled from the centre of his snapback, his tanktop showcased hefty guns and hinted at a full platter of abs, and the cherry and chopped walnuts of this sundae: skintight camouflage leggings. He could see the lines of his underwear cutting across his thighs. Jock, looked like. Yeah, no one but a foreigner would wear something like that in public.

He was vaguely conscious of his basket slipping from his grasp as he ogled, less so of Kisumi's protest as he caught it, longing to get swept up by his knight in grey camo. Not on a horse—this was the 21st century—but an ostentatious chopper decked out in fire and chrome, roaring its presence to every corner of the city. He felt himself getting choked up and thumped at the knot in his throat. This was the kind of man that needed to be thanked merely for existing.

The stranger turned and headed his way. Looking at him. Smiling at him. No, wishful thinking. Nothing more than an errant muscle spasm. He grabbed Kisumi's arm for moral support and reexamined the fish he'd been holding for the past few minutes. ¥590 for a pack of red snapper, fascinating.

"Scuse me."

The human masterpiece sidled up beside them, shoulder bumping into Sousuke's arm as he bent over, shoveling package after package of beef into his basket. Sousuke followed his S-curve and marvelled the spread of spandex across his meaty asscheeks. Jock for sure. His eyes wandered back up to the sprightly ponytail tapping against the man's pale nape, then down over his his toned arms, landing on a pair of hands that could give a mighty firm handshake. He'd never thought the act of loading a grocery basket could be so elegant. It was like a ballet of packaged meat products. He tightened his grip on Kisumi, paying no mind to his squeak of pain.

Having acquired enough food to feed a rugby team for a month, the man headed for the checkout. Sousuke aimed his phone at his departing beau and snapped a pic. He quickly chucked the phone into his basket and felt up a sirloin as the redhead looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of the flashclick. He shrugged it off and hoisted his baskets onto the checkout, oblivious to the clerk giving Sousuke the evil eye.

Kisumi wrenched out of Sousuke's grasp and punched him in the tit. "Don't be a creep."

"I'm not being a creep, I just want to remember what he looks like," Sousuke said, admiring his illicit prize. "You'd do the same."

"Yes, when I want to remember somebody's face, I take a picture of their ass. That's definitely what normal, sane people do." Kisumi tossed the molested steak into their basket. "Don't be that guy. Delete it."

"It's just the one. And I'm never going to see him again, it's not a big deal."

"If I let you keep the one, in four months' time you're going to be on the news for taking pictures of guys in changing rooms. You said it yourself, he probably just moved here. You'll see him again."

Upon reflection, Kisumi wished he would've just let him keep the picture.

—

If there was one thing Kisumi hated about Sousuke over everything else, it was how he fixated on a single thing to an unhealthy degree. Whether it was sports, a newly discovered band, or a TV show, Sousuke lived, breathed, and ate it until he was sick of it or someone intervened. It was the same way with men. The attitudes Sousuke had about the men he dated fell into two basic categories, "Didn't give a fuck" (rarely got past the first date) or "Cared with every ounce of his soul" (seriously tone it down we're concerned for you). Whenever he pulled a guy who fell into the second category, Kisumi kept a shrink and the cops on speed-dial. Sousuke's breakups were UglyUglyUgly and resulted in him simultaneously experiencing 4 out of 5 stages of grief with an intensity that rivalled a supernova for the better part of a week before sputtering into nothingness and retreating to a permadrunk hermit state until Kisumi managed to get him to fixate on something else and he crawled out of his cave to obsess anew.

It was during the torrid years of high school after Sousuke's second major breakup that he got into astronomy and developed the Star System, which the redheaded stranger was currently at the centre of. (Or, as Sousuke had – not at all creepily – put it, " _He's my sun."_ Kisumi had to excuse himself for a minute to make sure there wasn't an abducted foreigner stashed in the bathtub.) Guys in the Star System were as beautiful and untouchable as their namesake, never meant to be asked out, only admired from afar. When he'd first described it, Kisumi thought he understood, assuming it would be full of celebrities and famous athletes who didn't have time for little people like them, but from what bits Sousuke had shared with him, it was mostly populated by strangers he'd bumped into at the bar or on the train, one second romances that would never bear fruit.

Prior to the System, Kisumi knew Sousuke had had his eccentricities, but that put him into planes of weirdness previously undiscovered by man. Tyrkisk peber coated in chocolate and such.

The thing he hated second most about Sousuke was his ability to write elaborate backstories for people he'd never met and form nuanced opinions about them based on that, regardless of pesky things like 'reality'. He kept telling him he should be an author, but Sousuke staunchly asserted he was incapable.

"I bet he's an American. Or is that too cliché? The fiesty American arrives in a foreign land, seduces the locals with his hotblooded passion and giant hamburgers, then I get abducted by yakuza to pay off my cousin's gambling debt and he grabs his AK-47 and shoots up their hideout and rescues me and we drive off into the sunset. Or sunrise. Whatever's more romantic."

Kisumi idled at the far left of the screen and reached for his iced coffee. "There are countries other than America."

"France? Ireland? London?"

"London's not a country."

"It basically is." Sousuke stared blankly at the arcade cabinet, fingers resting on the buttons.

"Let me guess, you're thinking about him sitting on your face in an American flag speedo singing 'The Star Spangled Banner'?"

"Remember the corn story?"

"Should I?"

"This one time, I was eating this guy's ass and all of a sudden, this undigested corn kernel popped out and landed in my mouth. I didn't know what to do and I didn't want to embarrass him, so I ate it."

Memories of lunch rushed up Kisumi's throat. He retched into his fist, barely suppressing a restaging of his udon. "Fucking really? We're in public."

Sousuke barreled on, unconcerned. "I was just thinking that if that happened with him, I'd eat the whole cob."

"You make me ashamed to be gay sometimes."

"Nothing wrong with ass corn."

"There's a lot wrong with ass corn." Kisumi washed down the sour taste with the rest of his coffee. "I swear to god, I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because you're my confidante and I'm—what was it you said?—'emotionally incompetent and in desperate need of socialization'. And I buy you lunch sometimes."

—

If this guy's shorts were any shorter, he'd be flossing his teeth with him. Kisumi swore he could see his pecker and half his left nut from here. So yeah, today they'd found out Mr Sun went to the same gym as them. However many dozens of gyms there were in Tokyo and he had to go to this one. Small world. Sousuke was mooning over him at the cable machine, doing half-assed lat pulldowns—idiot hadn't even put any weight on—while Mr Sun was in the squat rack showing off his ass to anyone who had functioning eyeballs. Sousuke caught Kisumi's glare and began fiddling with the pin. He maxed out the stack and got halfway through the first rep before the cables juddered up and the plates unceremoniously dropped to the start.

Kisumi propped one foot up on the stack. "Stop before you hurt yourself."

"He might be watching though."

"He's gonna watch you buy a first class ticket to Snap City if you keep trying to do dumb shit." Kisumi sighed, peeling his sweaty tank away from his chest. "I bet he'll be on the bench at some point. Why don't you ask if he needs a spotter?"

"I can't do that. That'd be weird. And he looks busy anyway."

Kisumi looked back at Mr Sun, who was flossing the sweat from his thighs with his towel. Busy indeed.

"Then spot me if you're not going to do anything. I already finished warming up." Kisumi returned to the bench, which had been stripped and sprayed down by a bored staff member during his absence. "Make it 125."

Sousuke grabbed the plates and began loading the bar as Kisumi leaned back. "I don't get why you're so insistent about me talking to him."

"Because you're overthinking it. I don't know why you always do that. Your life would be so much better if you dialled down the thinking by about ten percent. Go be a scientist if you want to think about everything until you ruin it for yourself."

"Ready?"

"Okay."

He brought the bar up and clear—and dropped it straight onto his chest.

"Sousuke! Sousuke!" he wheezed, gulping like a beached tuna as the bar rolled to his throat.

But Sousuke was away with the faeries because Mr Sun had busied himself picking up all the dumbbells people had thrown on the floor. Kisumi flailed his feet, trying to foist the bar off. It keeled to the side with a _CLANG!_ and the proprietor ran out of his office, furiously pointing at the sign on the wall that said **NO LUNKS ALLOWED** as if he was one of those meatheaded ogres who shrieked his lungs out every time he completed a rep.

"And you were saying _I_ was pushing too hard." Sousuke pulled the bar clear and sulkily removed and reracked the plates. "He'll never let me spot him now."

Kisumi sucked in a great breath, face boiled-lobster red, and sputtered, "Don't worry about what he thinks! I almost decapitated myself because of you!"

"You said 160, right? Don't get mad for not knowing your limits."

"I said 125, those don't even sound alike!"

"Oh. My bad." He had the decency to almost look sorry. "Do you think he's going to be in the sauna after?"

"Don't talk to me. I'm done with you for today. I need some gyoza. And an aspirin."

"What if I run into him and he tries to talk to me?" Sousuke hovered after him like some great brainless wasp. "I need a plan."

"And a glass of wine," Kisumi huffed as he wiped down the bench. "No, a bottle."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, Sousuke. You're beyond help."

He went to the cardio room and ran until his knees were ready to burst.

—

Kisumi woke with a crick in his neck and blinding blue imprinted on his eyelids. Must've forgot to turn his phone off. **1:14 |** _One new text from Sousuke._ He sat up, cracked his neck, and swiped into his inbox on the off chance it was something important.

_I can't sleep_

_**I'll bite** _

_I dreamed I was on the train and there was no one in the car but me and my sun. He was dressed like a sexy genie and told me that I had three wishes_

_**STOP** _

_**I don't want to hear about your weird sex dreams** _

_it's not a sex dream_

_First I wished for enough money to do whatever I wanted for the rest of my life_

_**sensible** _

_next I wished for immortality and invulnerability_

_**that's two wishes** _

_I said it fast so he counted them as one_

_**and then?** _

_he leaned in real close and started taking my clothes off_

_**I said no sex dreams** _

_and I wished for a hot dog_

_**...dude.** _

_A FUCKING HOT DOG_

_**You could've at least wished for unlimited hot dogs** _

_he looked sad but he granted it_

_then he disappeared and I woke up and now I'm too angry to go back to sleep_

_also hungry_

_it was a really good looking hot dog_

_kisumi_

_kis_

_don't ignore me_

_please_

_he was so disappointed_

—

The bruises from the bar had almost faded by the time by the time every iota of Kisumi's being regretted the day he'd ever pointed out Mr Sun. He was staring at a poster—reprint of some Fauvist eyesore—knuckle to knuckle with Sousuke at a table the size of a handkerchief in their usual bar. Last thing he remembered, Sousuke was droning on about some elaborate fantasy scenario he'd tuned out three beers ago. He checked in to see if the topic had changed yet.

"What about kids? Is it too het of me to want that? I know it's tacky, but I always kinda wanted to be a dad. A son with my hair, his eyes. I think that could look good."

For his sanity, he had to put his foot down. "Sousuke. Listen to yourself. You're rambling about having gay designer babies with a guy you haven't even talked to _once_."

"He said 'excuse me' the one time."

"And you didn't say anything. You went," he let out a choked squeak, "like you creamed your pants. Then you had the balls to take a creepshot!"

"I didn't make that noise," Sousuke retorted. "That's not a noise I make, ever. And I deleted that pic. Get off my back."

"The problem isn't whether or not you kept the picture, it's that you took it in the first place."

The bell on the door jingled and trouble walked in.

"Does this guy even own a proper pair of pants?" Kisumi muttered as Mr Sun cozied up to the bar in a tanktop whose armholes had been slashed down almost the full length of the shirt and a pair of black, scale-patterned leggings that reflected the dim glow of the overhead lights.

"He likes casual fashion." Sousuke flicked his bottle cap into Kisumi's arm. "Leggings are popular overseas."

"Overseas, yeah, but he's not overseas, you absolute cretin. We have different standards here."

"He can wear whatever he wants."

" _Whatever he wants_ ," Kisumi mimicked, "As long as it makes your dick happy."

"Listen, I don't appreciate you saying all this shit about him."

"I'm sorry, am I besmirching the honour of your precious bro? You're right, I'm sorry, I should respect his decision to run around looking like he's late to his shift at the strip club. In fact, that's almost too much clothing he's got on. I bet he'd look great in pasties."

"Don't be jealous."

"Trust me, I'm not jealous of anything about him."

Kisumi drained the last of his beer and gathered his empties. He deposited them on the bar and ordered a Tequila Sunrise, side-eyeing Mr Sun as he worked on a Screwdriver. Mr Sun glanced at him, smiled a bit, went back on blabbing to the bartender about the latest breakthrough in dietary science. Spoke surprisingly good Japanese. A couple of guys further down the bar were exchanging winks and nudges with one another, nodding in their direction. He retreated to the table and watched Sousuke's dawning horror as one of the aforementioned guys approached Mr Sun.

"Don't know what you're surprised for. He wants attention, he's got it."

After a couple minutes, Mr Sun turned them away and the tension drained from Sousuke's shoulders.

"Must have a work meeting," Sousuke said, entirely too smug for his own good.

"One, you don't meet coworkers at a gay bar. Two, even if you did, you wouldn't meet them dressed like _that_. He's probably waiting for his boyfriend."

It was wrong to get so much enjoyment from Sousuke looking like the world was collapsing in on him, but he didn't feel guilty in the slightest.

"Did the thought really never occur to you?"

"Of course he would have one! Nothing that good stays single for long. I bet he dates a big handsome blond lumberjack from Canada. I can't beat a sexy lumberjack. He built his house with his own hands! And he did the plumbing!" Sousuke twisted his fingers in knots, trying to process the idea. "It's fine. He should be happy. He deserves to be happy."

"Sousuke," Kisumi started. He wasn't prepared to handle one of his meltdowns in public.

"God, what a lucky guy. I'd gift wrap my soul and hand deliver it to Satan if I could give his boyfriend a high-five after he fingerbanged him." Sousuke laughed weakly, bringing his beer to his mouth with a shaking hand. He took a long drink. Breathed deep. Sat up straighter as his features settled into a blank, impassive slate. "It's fine. I knew this would happen."

"Hey, hey. You don't know if he's single or not for sure." Kisumi patted Sousuke's shoulder, wondering if he had deleted that one shrink's number. "Just talk to him like a normal person and you can be done with it. What's so hard about that?"

"He's not going to like me," Sousuke said, as if it was obvious. "Guys like that aren't into me."

"Guys like what? Well adjusted humans?"

"Flirty. Social. Like you, but hot."

He didn't have the energy to be insulted. "Stop being a baby and talk to him. Look! He was looking at you."

"No, he wasn't, he was looking at you. Or that sign. Or a fly. Maybe he's an entomologist. Studies flies."

"He looked again. He was definitely looking at you."

"Stop trying to get my hopes up."

"All you do is have to talk to him _once_ and I will never bother you about him again. If you get rejected, you get rejected. If you don't, then you've got an in with the guy of your dreams. What's there to lose?"

"I don't like being rejected."

"Most people don't, but we deal with it anyway. Now go."

"What should I say?"

"Ask him where the nearest CrossFit gym is, he'll know."

"But what if—"

"If he shoots you down, I'll buy you a handle of that gin you like and we'll watch one of your stupid kaiju movies."

"They're not stupid."

_"Go."_

Sousuke stood and waited until he was sure the guy wasn't looking to adjust himself. Hanging right, like god intended. His cologne was too strong. He needed a piece of gum. When was the last time he took a shower? Two hours ago? Might as well be yesterday. Fuck he was going to puke. He grabbed an abandoned Long Island off one of the other tables and took a sip where there weren't lipmarks. What if he had something in his teeth? He whipped around, lips parted in a nervous grimace, and pointed at his mouth. Kisumi shooed him on.

This was a disaster and he wasn't even half there yet.

No, wait, he was fine. He was hot. Women asked him out all the time and he shot them down like clay pigeons. But hot by girl standards and hot by gay standards were different. What if he liked flamboyant guys? He couldn't fake that without wanting to neck himself. What if he was a chubby chaser? No, he'd go to a fatty bar if he was. At least there was that. Wait, how did he get to the bar so quick?

His sun was chewing on an orange slice, tracing concentric circles in the condensate beneath his drink. He pulled the orange out and set it back on the rim of his glass, licking his lips. "Hey."

"So, uh... hey."

Sousuke aimed his elbow for the bar and missed, banging his face into the counter.

His sun snorted with laughter. "You alright?"

"Yeah, fine. I just realized I forgot to," he stumbled for his feet and an explanation, "feed my gerbil. I'm gonna... go."

"No, no, let me buy you a drink." His sun held onto his wrist and patted the empty barstool beside him. "Your gerbil can live for another hour or two, can't he? You don't look like the type who starves his pets."

His name was Rin, he was a returnee from Australia, he coached swimmers at university level, he was a cat person universally loathed by cats, he owned a crowntail betta because he was gone most of the day and didn't want something that would get lonely _("I got him cheap because he killed a bunch of other fish at the pet store. He's fab as fuck."),_ and most importantly, he didn't have a boyfriend.

"I'm glad you didn't lecture me on my clothes. Most of the guys who've approached me since I came back here only did it to tell me I was dressed indecently. I don't get it. I didn't put in all this hard work to not show it off."

"I love the way you dress. It's hot." Sousuke hurriedly added, "Your self-confidence, I mean."

"Thanks. I wouldn't mind seeing a little of your 'self-confidence' sometime." Rin squeezed his bicep. "Seems like you got a lot."

"I do my best." Sousuke flexed, satisfied at how he filled out Rin's grip.

"Every time I've seen you, I thought to myself, 'Man, all he'd need to do is walk into the UN and take his shirt off and they'd declare world peace.' I wanted to talk to you, but you were always with that one guy, so I figured he was your boyfriend."

"No, no, me and him are just friends. I'm not seeing anyone right now."

"So you've got free time? I've been thinking I need a guy to show me around town. I like knowing all the best places."

"Tokyo's big. It'll take a while."

"Where would I have the most fun?"

Sousuke mulled over it for a minute. "My flat."

Rin broke into a vicious smile and edged closer. "I don't remember seeing that on any of the tourist brochures."

"Best kept secret in Tokyo."

Vodka wafted off Rin's breath, curled sharp into Sousuke's brain, getting him drunker. He floated in a wavestate, liquor licking up the walls of his skull. He dropped an arm around Rin and leaned in, meeting him temple to temple. Rin twined one arm around Sousuke's waist. It spiralled up his torso, over his head, melding them together. They pushed back and forth against one another, a gentle tide.

"Is there dancing?"

Another sip of vodka breath. "As much as you want."

Rin nuzzled against him, hair tickling his cheek. "Stripping?"

"That can be arranged."

"Can I touch the dancers?" Rin's other hand tiptapped against his thigh, going up and down the length of his femur.

"Of course."

"Sounds like my kind of joint."

Sousuke's eye drifted along the side of Rin's head and discovered an ear of exceptional beauty. Perfectly formed cartilage whorling down to a dark hole. Free lobe. A small dent where a piercing had been. He swept Rin's hair aside and licked over the ridges. Rin laughed, kneading kittenish at his chest.

"Cut it out, that tickles." He scraped his hair back into place and blew a puff of air at Sousuke's ear in return. "Hey, what part of my self-confidence do you like the best? Show me."

Sousuke squeezed his bicep and spoke in a low, husky voice, "Here..."

His hand roved down to Rin's taut stomach.

"...and here..."

Landed on his ass. "...and especially here."

"You forgot the most important part." Rin pushed Sousuke's hand into the juncture of his thighs. He tensed up, squishing the hand between two hard walls and a soft, warm place. "Lotta of self-confidence there."

"You need to leave if you're going to be doing that," the bartender interjected.

"I'll behave, I promise," Rin lied, squeezing on Sousuke's hand again. "I can't do anything tonight because I have to get up early for work, but you can call me tomorrow and we'll arrange a get-together."

He took his napkin and wrote his number out painstakingly slow, flexing his thighs the whole while, that soft warm place getting much less soft by the second.

"You sure we can't do something tonight?" Sousuke asked, hoping he didn't as desperate as he did in his head. "I've got a bottle of whiskey and an oversized collection of monster movies with our names on it."

"Next time."

"Mkay."

"You've got a bruise." Rin traced over the spot where the bar had given Sousuke whatfor, then kissed it. "Don't forget: tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Sousuke parroted, feeling warm, healing energy lingering where Rin's lips had touched him. Might've also been the swelling and busted veins, but Rin having magic lips was a nicer thought.

Rin melted off the barstool and tugged his tanktop lower, picked at the backs of his leggings. He dialled a cab and headed for the door. "See you in my dreams."

"You too," Sousuke belatedly called after him. Rin had been gone for a few minutes by then, but it was the thought that counted.

He returned to his and Kisumi's table in a daze, cradling his blessed hand. If he could've chopped it off and kept it embalmed in a jar right then, he would've. He smeared it across his face in aimless winding tracts, trying to catch Rin's scent over his beer breath.

Kisumi was going a bit green around the gills. "Please don't."

"It's like his balls are indirectly touching my face."

"We're not friends anymore," Kisumi said, and left him with the check.

**Author's Note:**

> Little did Kisumi know, Rin is even worse about crafting hypothetical situations and enables Sousuke at every opportunity. They can lay there for hours, going back and forth about the beautiful beachside house they're going to have in Italy. He hates it.
> 
> For the Imperial users in the audience: 125kg is roughly 275lbs; 160kg is roughly 352lbs.
> 
> Good god I wrote something that was meant to be short that actually stayed short. Figured this would be fine to tide people over while I'm working on [Tap Down Low.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821088)
> 
> Criticism is not only welcome, but encouraged, and I'll answer any questions that you have. Thanks for reading.  
> 16 December 2017  
> \- 匿名重工業


End file.
